


THOSE NIGHTS

by InkFlavored



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, M/M, Takes place after battle city, almost-confessions, heavy handed metaphors, just enjoy the Pain, lots and lots of feelings, please excuse me if this is out of continuity i havent watched this season in forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFlavored/pseuds/InkFlavored
Summary: Finding out you have a destiny is something that’s hard to swallow. Some things are harder still.
Relationships: Atem/Mutou Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 98





	THOSE NIGHTS

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is sponsored by Bastille’s album “Doom Days” (2019). Please listen while reading for maximum angst.

Yugi, admittedly, has more important things to worry about.

Finally, _finally_ , he’s stepping into his house, the moon already in the sky to mark the end of the grueling Battle City Tournament. Grueling, harrowing, and enlightening, in a way. Despite the threats at every turn, the lives of his friends hanging over him in every move he made, the several times he thought he’d breathe his last and leave them to fend for themselves, it _did_ end up having a silver lining. He learned a lot about himself, his friends, and… one friend in particular.

He learned about his fate. His destiny. The responsibility that comes with it. He learned that the Puzzle around his neck means a lot more to the _world_ than he ever thought before. And he learned about the spirit inside it—the ancient pharaoh it once belonged to, now trapped inside until his task is complete. It’s still a lot to process

And despite all of it—the exhaustion that sits heavy in bones, the questions running rampant in his mind, the fear, and the clawing dread that comes with knowing a ticking clock exists—the only thing he can think about is the eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

Not really his _head_. It’s the back of his mind. The part that connects to the Puzzle, the doorway that opens his mind up to his Other Self. And it’s carving a hole into his consciousness, a physical pressure without anything actually being there. He feels, now more than he ever has, that he’s being watched. That someone is trying to get his attention without explicitly stating it, content to stare at him from across the room—the _soul room,_ to be precise—and hope he looks over. Meets the gaze and follows.

And he wants to. But at the same time, it scares him to want it so much, and he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he answers the silent call. He pretends he doesn’t notice.

Yugi trudges up the stairs, staring at his shoes. He tries to drown out the stare with the swirling colors of his thoughts, the questions he has. What are they supposed to _do_ now? If he and the Pharaoh have a destiny to fulfill, shouldn’t they get started on it? What did it entail? The most logical solution would be to go to Egypt and sort it all out there. Right? They can’t just sit back and do _nothing_ , if this destiny of theirs is so important. But he can’t deny that it scares him, being shoved in a direction and being told it’s life or death. What if something bad happens? What if his friends get hurt? What if—

The silent stare becomes an insistent pull, and an imploring voice says, _Yugi. We should speak._

Staring at his shoes does nothing to stop Yugi from tripping over his own feet. He worries the hem of his shirt between his fingers.

_Let me get ready for bed first_ , he replies, within the confines of his mind. He tries to keep the out-loud speaking to his Other Self limited when he’s at home—even if everyone else is asleep.

The Pharaoh’s tug relaxes, smoothing out like a blanket being thrown over a mattress. But the burning doesn’t leave. He’s still staring. Yugi resists the urge to throw up a mental blockade over their connection, if only so he won’t have to suffer his Other Self’s unrelenting gaze.

He goes through his nightly routine on autopilot, hardly registering his movements as he washes his face (he really should shower, but that requires a sense of awareness he doesn’t have at the moment), brushes his teeth, and changes out of his (gross, frankly) uniform. But he has to take off the Puzzle, first.

Even for a moment, pulling the chain over his head sets off the same alarm bells that ring when he realizes he forgot his lunch at home, or when he can’t find his deck in either pocket. A temporary panic that comes with having something familiar ripped away without a warning. Having to sit with the emptiness of missing a piece of his life, and a worrying lightness hanging from his neck. It reminds him of everything he felt in that burning building, watching the Puzzle—but more importantly, his Other Self—get smashed into pieces.

A sliver of a deeper dread curls into his mind when he realizes this destiny of his might make that feeling permanent.

The tug in his mind returns, and with it comes a wash of emotions—concern, mostly, but also a powerful persuasion, a coaxing call in the hopes of drawing him down—crashing on the edge of his consciousness like waves on a beach. It laps out and in again, hardly leaving time for the foam to settle before another wave pushes its way through.

“I know,” Yugi says, out loud. Replying with feelings might say too much. “We can talk soon, I just have to get changed. Promise.”

It doesn’t stop, but the waves shrink to the size of ripples on a pond. Quieter. That doesn’t make them any less noticeable, in Yugi’s mind.

In the hopes of looking like he isn’t dreading this conversation, he changes quickly. His school clothes are discarded in favor of his favorite star-patterned pajamas. The soft fabric can’t even come close to the comfort he feels when he slips the Puzzle back over his head, and the heavy weight returns. And another, less comforting weight drops into his gut.

No excuses now.

He sits down on his bed, back against the headboard, crossing his legs and cradling the Puzzle in his lap. “Okay,” he says. “Do you want me to come in there, or—?”

_I can speak with you_ — "—out here, if it makes you more comfortable."

The Pharaoh's voice transitions from Yugi's head, into one corner, and then outside of it entirely, as the ghost only he can see appears right next to him. His Other Self sits against the headboard with him, eternally school-uniform clad, and arms propped up on his bent knees.

The bed is small, not meant for two people to sit comfortably. Yugi's shoulder is nearly inside his Other Self's entirely, and he pretends that it's the connection they share that makes him wish for a solid companion—a side he could lean against, without fear of falling through. He also pretends the shift in his seat is due to comfort, instead of an inexplicable need to be closer, somehow, than they already are.

There's something scrabbling at the back of his throat, but he swallows it down before it can escape. It retaliates by rushing through the whole of his body. As he looks as the Pharaoh, and the Pharaoh looks at him (burning), he can feel every hair on his arms stand at attention. 

"What did you want to talk about?" Yugi asks, because neither of them has made a move to say anything in nearly a minute.

Only then does the Pharaoh break their gaze, and in the seconds before he speaks, Yugi can feel him forming an answer, the swirling mess of colors and feelings taking the shape of a single question: “Are you well, Partner?”

Questions mean very little between the two of them. They’re a formality, at best. Because Yugi feels how he feels, and his Other Self _knows_. Knows it all. And Yugi knows what his Other Self feels. It’s not as much an inquiry as it is an indication that he’s been listening. He’s been listening and he _knows_ how Yugi feels, but he wants to hear him say it.

Because of this, Yugi chooses his next words _very_ carefully.

“It’s all been a lot,” he says, and it’s the understatement of his life. “At the end of Battle City, we were supposed to get a break, you know? But now it turns out there’s a lot more we have to do before things can…”

_Go back to normal_ , is what he meant to finish with, but they never really _had_ a normal, did they? What is “normal” to a teenager with the spirit of an ancient pharaoh hanging around his neck? What is “normal” to that same spirit, who doesn’t remember anything outside of their time together?

And what would “normal” be when all of this was said and done?

“I understand,” the Pharaoh says, and of _course_ he does. He always does. He understands the understandable, at times. He understands things Yugi can’t even begin to put into words.

It’s for that reason he chooses to express himself _only_ in words, most of the time.

“And I’m scared,” Yugi continues, because he knows they both know, so there’s no use in lying about it. “It was one thing knowing you were a magic spirit, but now we have to defeat a great evil together, and we have this great _destiny_. It’s… Well, it’s _scary_.”

His Other Self’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Putting it lightly.”

Yugi returns it and shrugs. “I guess.” His smile fades, along with their small reprieve. “I don’t know what to expect from this—or anything, from now on. Battle City hurt so many people. Innocent bystanders. Our friends. You.” He mutters it out loud, but it’s the loudest in his mind.

“And you.”

The Pharaoh says it like it tastes wrong in his mouth, curling his lip and grimacing at the syllables between his teeth. Through their connection, Yugi feels a boiling storm of memories and feelings, not the least of which is fury, with a striking undercurrent of _guilt_.

“But I’m safe now,” Yugi reminds him, scrambling to soothe the hurricane on the horizon. “Everyone’s safe. We did it, together.”

“Whatever comes next might not be so kind.”

The emphasis—whether it lay on the subject of _safety_ or _together—_ is not lost on Yugi. He can feel it, pooling in the back of his skull, rainwater forming a small lake from the gutters.

“I know,” he says. “But what’s the point in worrying about it?”

The Pharaoh shakes his head. “There isn’t one, but…” _Maybe I can’t help it_ , is added through the stream of their connection.

So many things to say. Only a few ways Yugi can think to say them.

“One of those nights?” he jokes, aiming a good-natured elbow to an incorporeal side.

He’s rewarded with another tiny smile. “I suppose. What would you suggest, Partner?”

_To help_ , is the omitted phrase. But Yugi doesn’t need it to understand the meaning. His Other Self is often plagued by similar anxieties, and Yugi is always willing to ease his pain. But it’s different this time, because he’ll also be helping himself.

“What gives you hope?” he asks. “What helps you get through the day?”

The Pharaoh tilts his head, thoughtful. The gears turn, and Yugi can feel them. He starts thinking of a list of his own, privately. As privately as he can, in any case.

“Our friends,” his Other Self begins, “and their belief in us. They give me strength. Our previous triumphs, and the knowledge that we have fought great evils and won.” He turns his head to look at Yugi again and the burning returns. “And you.”

Yugi flinches away. “Me?”

He’s half inclined to believe it’s a joke, but it’s a thought quickly dismissed. There’s nothing but honesty, genuine and golden and sweet, pouring from the point where their minds meet. It’s enough to tint his cheeks, but he hopes not enough to be noticeable.

“Of course,” his Other Self continues. “If I have a reason to hope at all, it is because of you. The only reason I am here now to speak _about_ hope is because of you.” He gestures to the Puzzle in Yugi’s lap.

Yugi runs his thumbs over the corners, trying to squash his fluster. “You give me hope, too,” he says without prompting. It’s one of the truest things he’s ever said.

“I… do?”

The Pharaoh’s confusion confuses Yugi in turn, and he looks up to find the spirit is staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Yeah,” he says, resisting the urge to tack on _Isn’t it obvious_? “You do so many amazing things, and you have so much confidence. How could I not have hope because of you?”

The confusion in his Other Self’s face becomes softer, bordering on amused. “I’m able to do all of those amazing things because you give me the strength to believe I can do them at all. Partner.”

A pulse through their connection emphasizes the nickname. It’s not subtle—the Pharaoh never is, with things like this. Yugi’s Other Self will take any chance he can get to remind him that they’re in this _together_. They’re a team. No “weaker” half, no “better” half. Equals.

Which is funny, because from Yugi’s perspective, the pedestal he’ll never admit to having for his Other Self is on par with the one his Other Self has for _him_.

“I guess that means we have an endless feedback loop of hope,” he says, sitting up straight with pretend grandeur. “That’s enough to beat _anything_ destiny throws at us.”

The Pharaoh laughs softly, nodding in agreement. “And more besides.”

Yugi enjoys the moment for only seconds before he remembers: their destiny. His happiness flickers. He stares down at the Puzzle again.

“Partner?” the Pharaoh asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“What happens when you—when _we_ complete our destiny?” Yugi asks.

It’s not a question that needs an answer. It’s as plain as the silence that hangs in the air, because his Other Self says nothing. He knows. They both know.

Yugi runs his fingers along the cracks and divots of the Puzzle that he pieced together—so long ago, it seems. The gold is cold and heavy in his hands, but not nearly as heavy as his heart, and he echoes the feeling in his mind, because he can’t—or won’t—say out loud:

_We were supposed to be together forever_.

It’s selfish of him to feel that way, he knows. To want to keep the Pharaoh with him, even though he has a chance to rest, and get what he deserves. To be so willing to help, with a not-so-secret wish to keep someone he doesn’t own. The Pharaoh is his own person, he doesn’t _belong_ to anyone. And he has the right to want to leave, after all this.

Again, Yugi is reminded of a burning building, shaking hands, flames licking his skin, and thoughts of _Not yet. Not now. I can’t lose him now._

But instead of fire, this time, his Other Self reaches over and places one transparent hand over Yugi’s own.

“I know,” he says. _I know_ , he laments.

Yugi doesn’t consider himself someone who “wants” things. There are things he thinks would be nice to have, but he won’t spend too long dwelling on thoughts of what could be. He lives in the moment, or tries to. He prefers to give, in any case. He would much rather have nothing, because he gave it all away to help someone in need, than have everything he’s ever wanted, alone.

But in that moment, Yugi wants. He bores his eyes into that incorporeal hand— _he’s_ the one doing the burning now—and he _wants_.

It’s a powerful feeling. It threatens to drown out every other feeling he might have, bubbling up from the place he so often pushes it down. The ocean of his thoughts pulls back to blankness as this nameless _want_ becomes a tsunami, a towering wave with a crest so high it’s impossible to see. It might go on forever. Yugi braces for the crash, praying he can keep himself together when it hits—

“Partner, what’s my name?”

The wave startles out of existence. Yugi fixes a confused frown at the Pharaoh, who looks back innocently. It’s as if he asked what time it was.

“I—I don’t know,” Yugi stutters, not really sure _how_ to answer that. “Other Me, what kind of a qu—”

The Pharaoh lifts a finger. “There. You just said it.”

He rewinds his previous sentence in his mind. “’Other Me’?”

His Other Self smiles. His hand hasn’t left the Puzzle where it rests on top of Yugi’s. “Exactly. No matter what the future brings, I am—I _want_ to be the Other Yugi. If you’ll have me.” He ends the statement almost bashful, glancing away.

Yugi sputters in shock and a mild outrage born only from seeing a friend put themselves down. “Of course I will!” he insists. “What do you mean _if_? Of course you can be the Other Me—as long as you want.”

The Pharaoh meets his gaze again, and Yugi finds a subdued happiness in his eyes. Gratitude and something deeper wash through the connection, and a regret of things yet to come. Without words, it tells him _what I want might not be what I get_.

Yugi feels the wave returning, building on itself like before. Rising up, up, _up_ , until he can’t see it anymore. It pulls all thought, feeling, and inhibition out of his mind, all nerves are numbed but for the ones in his constricting chest.

He can’t look away from his Other Self, and his Other Self makes no move to look anywhere else.

It’s then that the wave hits, coming to shore and drowning him, gasping with his final breaths a single, repeating thought:

_Love me. Please love me. Say that you love me._

The Pharaoh sucks in a sharp breath and flinches back like he’s been struck. Yugi recoils and slaps a hand over his mouth, afraid he’d spoken aloud. But his tongue is still glued to the roof of his mouth and he isn’t sure he’s even _breathed_ in the past thirty seconds or so. No—he hadn’t spoken aloud. But his Other Self felt it. He knows. Like he always does.

Yugi flushes with embarrassment and shame. He knows it’s impossible to keep secrets from his Other Self, but he never meant to make his feelings so… explicit. Especially not on a night like _this_. He sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye at the Pharaoh, prepared to face the consequences.

He isn’t prepared for what he sees.

The Pharaoh is looking at him with the same want that he had just felt ( _is_ feeling, _will always_ feel). There’s so much in that single look, the look that’s gone back to burning him, setting him alight with everything it holds inside. Desire and devotion and fear.

In the back of his mind, their connection tugs open. Yugi welcomes the pull, and he hears the Pharaoh’s voice from the other side:

_You first_.

Yugi opens his mouth in a rush as soon as he hears those words, and for a moment he thinks he might do it. Say everything he’s wanted to say out loud, get it in writing, have _something_ to show for it other than feelings through a connection and burning looks and mile-high wants and aching for a touch he’ll never know.

But he doesn’t. Because if he says it, that changes everything. If he says it, any of it, that means it’s one more reason why he wants the Pharaoh to stay. One more reason why he might not be able to go on if all of this ends like he knows it will.

So Yugi closes his mouth. His smile is pained. His Other Self echoes it.

“You should sleep, Partner,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You’re probably right,” Yugi replies, too spent to argue, and with nothing more to say. He shuffles down under the covers and watches his Other Self disappear, tucking himself back into the recesses of his mind. “Goodnight.”

_Goodnight_.

He closes his eyes, but doesn’t sleep. Because there are eyes burning in the back of his mind, standing at the beach that the wave of his wanting left.

Yugi stares from the opposite shore, and burns them back.

**Author's Note:**

> say my name say my name when no one is aROUnd you say baby i LOVe you if you ai


End file.
